Every Hero Was Once a Rebel

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Stuck in Fourteen

If somebody asked me how old I am, the first number that would pop outta my head would be 14.

I remember I had a conversation with mom one sunday afternoon about how she still feels like she’s 20 years old. She’s twice older than how she feels to be. The body might go old, lose some screws and hair strands grow white, but she said it feels weird to still feel like 20.

I don’t know but for the longest time, I still feel like I’m 14. A lot kinda happened to me when I was back there. Maybe it felt like it was the longest year I’ve spent growing and learning and all – maybe life came to me when I was 14.

Books and old men from the old scrolls used to say that you might be alive but you’re not living at all. But then you get that first wind, the first glimpse of the sun and you know what the whole universe has been talking about since the dawn of time.

In a few days I’m going to be a year older – 19 years to be exact. All my birth days have been uneventual for several years now. I’d probably just walk around the city all day just like I always do whenever I like some time off. I’ve been doing that for already three to four years and it’s cathartic. I like to think that when you came to this earth the whole world didn’t open up for you, but instead you came to open yourself out into the world.

Altruistic. Anti self-centric.

One more year and I’ll be lasting two decades in this planet. I’ll be 20 years old by then. Before I hit my 20’s I’ll be sure to think about what I’ve done for the past nineteen years. What have I been doing? How has life been to me? Or, in juxtaposition, how have I been to life?

I’m a fourteen-year-old trapped in an almost nineteen-year-old body, but I feel like I’ve been fourteen for too long. I’m an old soul, wrapped in a young mind, wrapped in a body that’s growing older every second I spend awake and asleep.